Monday, September 5, 2022

Plague Poem for Day Eight Hundred and Fifty-Four, Time Enough

Perhaps if we had time for all this.

You know – hours, hell, days, or

even weeks, months, years more.

We could belly up to the bar, when-

ever and order from the top shelf,

settle in and watch the room fill,

listen to the general conversation

for the group, chat the bartender

up or the person on the next stool.

Enough time and we could sidle up

to the table and place a large bet,

perhaps all we have, on one number

and not care whether we win or

lose. We can always get more, earn

more, enough to keep going on and

on. We could play a round, skydive,

waterski, or walk down the darkest

street in the far worst part of town,

the part they always warn us about.

With all this time, we could run for

office and not care who won or lost.

We could sail around the world in

a small sailboat, watch whales breach,

watch sharks, see if punching a shark’s

nose really works. If I had time enough

I could sit here the rest of the hour,

the day, the week etc. and list all of

the things I could do with extra time, but

I don’t have that kind of time and/or

that kind of patience with me.


J. K. Durick is a retired writing teacher and online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Third Wednesday, Black Coffee Review, Sparks of Calliope, Synchronized Chaos, Madswirl, Journal of Expressive Writing, Lightwood, and Highland Park Poetry.